Signs

A dove visited me this morning.

There were in fact, two doves on my windowsill as I pushed out a yawn at the edge of the bed. The room’s light at that time of day is more cubed than slanted--panels pale out on the walls and even though it’s beautiful, I am always annoyed to wake like this: the drone of NPR over my alarm, the weighted knowing I have to rise and pretend to be an adequate adult, playing my own game of high-stakes-grown-up-pretend for yet another day...

They were quiet and they looked at me with big pupil-y eyes.

They cooed and I blinked back. NPR faded out and I was barefoot and standing and looking at them and I decided it would be the greatest day of my life if I could just not put on shoes.

Time to get a-writing. If two doves are not a sign that the next chapter needs to be written before Wednesday, that’s fine. But I like to see what I want to see. My heroine has shacked up with two hippies at a Colorado zoo (blue tea not necessary) and they have much more of the country to cover...